


Solanaceae

by maybespyware



Category: Batman - All Media Types, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, darn!! these kids need hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybespyware/pseuds/maybespyware
Summary: A Robin has just died in Gotham. Unfortunately, Klaus is the first to find out about it.
Kudos: 47





	Solanaceae

**Author's Note:**

> this came about because the author watched half of ua season 1 and couldn't fucking help himself. that being said, i don't have any idea what happens past episode 5 so there will be probably be accuracy mistakes so feel free to call me a fake fan. don't know why more fics don't exist for this crossover though. this'll be my last oneshot before i start working on my plot intensive stuff, so enjoy this hot garbage until i update somewhere in the next couple of weeks

Klaus was reading a book. Or trying to, his eyes staring through the ink and the bland mulch of paper and the facts about botany. And he chuckled loosely to himself, because they killed plants to make a book about plants and that's very funny.

He could feel them under his fingertips.

"Dad's going to realize you're not reading it." Ben is looking over his shoulder, perched on the headboard over him. The ghost of his brother is idly swinging his feet back and forth, the blanket underneath that he should have hooked passing straight through his bloody sneakers.

“I’m reading it.” Klaus answered, pausing just a second too long to be natural.

“What’s the Latin name for the nightshade family?” There’s no answer from Klaus this time, opting to let his head droop uncomfortably over the back of the bed, resting his neck uncomfortably next to his brother’s seat. Ben sighs in what sounds like disappointment. “I’m not helping you cheat next time he tests you.”

“Fine.” Ben would, and both of them knew that quite well.

Someone was screaming beside them. Klaus squinted his eyes shut. It was like tinnitus, the shriek rising to a fever pitch in his ears. In seconds he was under his pillow, nose jutting uncomfortably into the freshly pressed sheets as he curled up pathetically under the suffocation. The book is abandoned, draped over the medium’s knee.

“You’re seeing them again, aren’t you?” Ben inquired, and his voice wasn’t any quieter, just as loud as the screaming, the sobs, the pleading, drowning out Klaus’ thoughts with so much of everything. The spirit haunting him must have just died. He could catch the scent of burnt flesh in the room, the metallic tang of a person bleeding out.

“No, n— STOP, please, _please_ stop!” The voice isn’t his, but Klaus can’t tell for sure who’s saying it. All of his limbs are paralyzed, fingers clenched around fabric. Ben gasps, is trying to nudge him with his foot and the sensation of the cold going through him just makes Klaus tense up all the more.

“You have to look at them.” Ben’s tone is steely, but his brother can pick out the way the ghost’s statement wavers, the same way it always would when Ben was in a mission situation that scared him. He sounded shaken, so desperate in a way Klaus had never heard him be when he was confronted with the fellow supernatural. “Please Klaus, we have to help them. They need to talk to you.”

Klaus shakes under the pillow as the sobbing picks up, heart-wrenching and so, so loud.

“Klaus, please, come on, they need you. I need you.”

“I don’t― I can’t die! I can’t!”

“Klaus, it's your job. It’s important, please, he needs us.”

“Shut up,” Klaus murmurs, tongue impossibly thick and dry in his mouth. “Go away.”

“It’s what you have to do. It’s your duty.”

And Klaus shivered weakly, tears already forming at the corners of his eyes, before he slowly, carefully lifted the corner of the pillow closest to the outer edge of the bed with a herculean effort. Because Ben was right, it was what he was born to do, Dad would be disappointed, so disappointed in Klaus when he found out about this. And Klaus wouldn’t be able to bear it.

His heart stops for a beat. For once, there’s only one other apparition in the room with him. The ghost is a boy, can’t be older than Klaus is, and his prone form is crumpled against the floor. He was in a bright yellow, red, and green costume, stained with crimson much darker, something spray painted across the chest in muddy colors. Green gloved arms were folded over his head as if trying to protect himself, fresh bruises creeping up the exposed skin. A cape swallows him up, his corpse lain across the yellow inside, the corners matted with dried blood. Tears and more blood are smudged all over his young features and the ear length hair is plastered with sweat to his forehead.

A domino mask covers his eyes.

Klaus knows he should say something, try to catch the spirit’s attention, but all he could see in that moment was Ben. Ben, in the school uniform, bloody and broken, his tentacles limp and twitching, the same mask shrouding his dull and lifeless eyes from view. An involuntary whimper finds its way out of him, tears flowing freely over his cheeks. As if reading his mind, the remnants of his brother tries to pat him comfortingly on the back, ignoring the way his touch slightly dips into Klaus’ clothing.

“Relax. I’m here, Klaus, right here.” He whispers, but the comforting gesture is lost on the medium, who has frozen in place like a statue. “Breathe, okay? You need to be present.”

Klaus attempts to take his advice, starts vaguely cataloguing the feel of the stagnant air on his skin, the smell of Mom’s favorite brand of detergent, the texture of the botany book that he’d clutched onto again as he sat back up. Anything to remind him that the bloody mess in front of him wasn’t really there, just an image from the afterlife. But he couldn’t block out the acrid stench of smoke, the glistening of the still fresh blood dripping from the boy’s nose and mouth, the sound of the wailing as he begs his long gone assailant to release him. He sniffles as he tries to choke down audible cries.

“I-I think I recognize him,” States Ben, shifting into place onto his feet. “I’ve seen a picture of him somewhere, I think. He’s someone important. Did Dad ever mention him?”

“N-n-no. Maybe. ‘Dunno.” Klaus replied shakily, afraid if he talked anymore he might lose his composure and start screaming. Distantly though, he does recognize the ridiculous costume, embellished with a shiny ‘R’ affixed right above the heart of the kid. The memory is just on the tip of his tongue, but Klaus can’t possibly be expected to find it right now.

“Well then, you’ve gotta ask him.” Ben said, and only now did Klaus notice his brother’s got his arms around himself in a hug no one else can give him. “We’ve gotta help him Klaus, you have to help him,” Over and over again like a broken record.

“Help me, please, Bruce, please, you’ve gotta save me.” The kid across them echoed, and Klaus’ jaw tensed as he ground down onto his teeth. Stumbling, he rose from the bed, letting go of the pillow, his current lifeline, as he gripped onto the book and walked the few steps to stand over the spirit.

“No one’s hurting you,” Klaus began, although the words cracked with barely suppressed panic. Dad had advised him how to deal with the people who were still in denial of their death, stuck in their last memory of the living world. Calmly state the obvious, let them come into awareness of their passing on their own. The medium had only succeeded in that twice before. “L-look, I’m t-the only one in the r-ro-room. I’m not, I’m not touching you.”

The ghost snivels, curls tighter into his cape, his earlier wails denigrating into quiet appeals to be let go, for someone to save him. Somehow it wrecked Klaus more than the loud wailing, because the boy sounded so hopeful, hopeful that he would have been saved at the last minute. And Klaus already knows he was never heard by anyone other than his murderer. Ben must have sounded just like that. With a sharp turn he bent over away from the boy and threw up, emptying his stomach of today’s dinner until he’s retching on nothing. Mentally, he apologized to Mom, even though he knew she wouldn’t object to cleaning up the mess.

“Wha-what? What’s happening, what is this?” The ghost asked, and Klaus didn't turn back to look at that domino mask again.

“You’re dead.” Klaus spat out with a cynical laugh, much harsher than he needed to be. Ben hissed above him, but Klaus really didn’t have the stomach to make an effort to sugar coat it.

“No. No, I can’t be.”

“Yes, you are. Deal with it.” Klaus said, curling his book to his chest, still on his knees and facing away. Ben endeavored to kick him, but all he succeeded in doing was passing straight through his brother’s chest and drawing a mangled hybrid of a sob and a cruel chuckle out of Klaus.

“What is wrong with you.” Ben growled, but Klaus ignored him. He felt like fainting.

“But, but that means-” The ghost fell silent behind him, and finally, Klaus peeked over his shoulder to see the boy getting to his feet. “No. No, he wouldn’t have left me. They wouldn’t leave me. Bru-Batman’s going to find me.”

Pausing, Klaus studied the ghost with intent, still feeling the fresh tear tracks on his face as his breath caught in his throat.

“You’re Robin, aren’t you? Fr-from Gotham.” Next to him, Ben nodded in a silent affirmation, and Robin caught Klaus’ gaze and he recoiled. The boy’s mask widened as he raised his eyebrows, sharpness pooling into his expression as he seemingly regained a moment of clarity. As quickly as it came, the expression twisted back into pain and the edges of the mask crumpled as Robin folded his arms back over his head.

"Fuck, I refuse to die, I refuse," He mutters. Dad hated Gotham's vigilantes, always muttered about the rumours in frustrated tones to himself over their headlines in newspapers. Diego and Vanya had once conspired to smuggle in as many news reports as possible that they could find on the crime-fighters. When they were caught, their punishment was dragged out for more than a week.

Klaus just loved irony.

"Shit, I really am dead," Robin finally stated, and his own blunt phrasing just served to get him more upset. The hero pulled at his hair. “Dick. Dick’s going to be so disappointed.”

Klaus’ world was spinning in place. He couldn’t look at this kid without seeing his siblings in his place, injured and ravaged, burnt and calloused. Robin seemed dead-set to keep his gaze locked with the medium, and he couldn’t possibly break the eye contact.

“My brother,” He continued, “Dick Grayson. He trusted me. I didn’t mean to fail him. Tell him that, he has to know.”

“Klaus will, we promise. We’ll tell your brother.” Ben comforted, and Klaus grit his teeth. That promise would be empty, anyways, if the medium had a say in it. Robin continued wincing in pain, no indication he’d heard the other ghost. “Klaus, ask him how he died. Maybe he can name his killer.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Robin murmurs, just barely audible. “Batman will avenge me. He’ll tear him to pieces.”

Klaus… Klaus couldn’t take this anymore. His knees gave out, crumpling onto the ground, the harsh rub of the carpet digging into his elbows as the book folded over its spine as his forehead dug into it. His hands were clasped firmly over his ears to block out the low whimpering, the disappointed glare of his deceased brother, his own sobs as they were ripped out of his chest, but nothing worked, because the sounds were in his brain, never muffled, never fucking quiet, wrapping around his mind and his throat and choking him, _suffocating_ him like─

“I didn’t fail them. I didn’t─ what was I supposed to do?” And gosh, didn’t Klaus know what that felt like, trying your hardest but in the end you’re helpless, helpless, you can only look at the remnants of what you couldn’t save day in and day out and _what are you supposed to do?_

The door to the room creaked open.

“Dear?” It sounded like Mom, but who goddamn knew, it could have been that lady strangled to death in her bed last Tuesday, the young girl with a Glasgow smile cut into the lips above the gash in her tainted white dress.

“Oh you poor thing. Come up from the floor, come on, that’s a dear,” She repeated as she lovingly hooked Klaus under his shoulders to pull him into a stand, but her son flailed wildly, thrashing against the steady, calm pressure of the inhumane strength built into her systems. Ben is in the corner with Robin, as close as he can get. His silent judgment is impassive and calculating, imposing. It’s such an impossibly heavy weight on Klaus.

“Promise you’ll tell Dick. The whole family. They’re all waiting for me. They can’t know I’ve failed them.”

The ghost doesn’t leave from his view over the shoulder of his mom, who’s pulled him into a hug as if she intended to shield Klaus from the world. Dipping his nose into the crook of Mom’s neck, he cried into her perfectly ironed polka dot dress, not caring that Dad would be there soon to scold him for it.

Robin doesn’t leave even after the punishment. He stood at the foot of the bed like a demon, and Klaus’ nightmares evolved into dead, cold vigilantes. Robin didn’t leave until early next morning, when the headline Dad reads at breakfast is highlighted with the news of his death.

Ben kept urging him to go contact Robin again, to go uphold his last wishes.

And Klaus merely went to go pop one of the pills hid in the crevice carved into his dresser-drawer.

Eventually he would sink and forget.


End file.
